"And can you refuse me, when with a word you can secure my gratitude—my friendship—for life?" She stretched out her hands with a gesture so alluring, and turned upon him a look of such compelling appeal, as might have melted even a colder heart than his. He could not altogether resist her, but he still sought to temporize.
"You have those—that packet?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Have you examined the contents? Surely woman's curiosity—" The lightness of his words could not veil the anxiety in his voice.
"The seals are still unbroken," she assured him, "and, if you agree to my terms, will remain so until you break them yourself."
"But you know somewhat of the contents? No doubt," with intense bitterness, "Captain Freemantle has given you his version of their importance?"
"Whatever I know about them, Lord Beachcombe, will be forgotten—absolutely—from the moment that Captain—Freemantle—is out of danger."
Beachcombe still hesitated. His curiosity was strongly roused. He had had more than one experience of Prue's unbridled caprice, but this one bewildered him. He could not grasp the only explanation; its improbability baffled him. She had led so many eligible suitors—himself one of them—a lively dance to the very altar-rails; was it believable that this man—outlaw, fugitive, proscribed, penniless—could have won the wayward beauty, and won her so completely that having actually married him, she was ready to sacrifice the future she expected to share, for his present safety?
"How am I to know that his wife, if there be such a person, will keep the promises you make for her?" he said, with his crafty eyes upon her.
"I will answer for his wife—as for myself," said Prue. "Question me no further, Lord Beachcombe, but accept my terms—or refuse them if you deem it more to your advantage."